The truth is that domestic violence and violence against women touch many of us. This violence is not a private matter. Behind closed doors it is shielded and hidden and it only intensifies. It is protected by silence – everyone's silence. Violence against women is learned. Each of us must examine - and change - the ways in which our own behavior might contribute to, enable, ignore or excuse all such forms of violence. I promise to do so, and to invite other men and allies to do the same.—Sir Patrick Stewart

Actually, I’m Angry

“I can’t relate to the more innocent voices, the ones who think small problems are problems at all, or who think there’s a reason for my tragedy, or who are experiencing life the way they planned it.” —Cameron, “Sad but true“

It’s been an intense few weeks. My narcissist can hold himself together for stretches of time, but that time has been exhausted and his bizarre behavior is in full effect. He is clearly failing at his obligation to sell the house, so he is bursting with narcissistic injury and feeling that the world should be highly impressed with his mediocre attempts at preparing the house for sale.

I’ve been on the receiving end of quite a bit of blame. He demands my help, then refuses to allow me on the property, then refuses the spend money contracting things out. If I send him five bids in the neighborhood of $200, he will demand I find one for $100. The list of improvements the realtor wanted us to make remains incomplete, but, after missing two listing dates, the house was listed “as is.”

A week or so before our house finally went on the market, we had our first “test” showing. Upon entering the garage, our realtor and the perspective buyers were greeted with the dregs of some BDSM scene. The buyers were immediately ready to leave and the realtor was disturbed. Her brokers recommended that she not take the listing because they feared for her safety. I wonder if the sabotage was intentional or just of product of his refusal to live in reality.

That thought of sabotage continues in my mind because of what happened the day the listing went live. Upon walking up the driveway that morning, I discovered three dead rodents, one bloated by wiggling maggots, one decapitated, and one just plain dead. My visit to the house was unannounced, so I know they weren’t there to intentionally disturb me. Was he planning on leaving them for a potential buyer to see or is he just so far removed from “normal” that three dead rats didn’t register on his radar?

Since he won’t let me in the house if he isn’t there and I really have no desire to put myself in that kind of danger, I didn’t see his “repairs” to the inside until the listing. It was an incredibly disappointing sight on so many levels. Since I’m always looking for my next house on the listing sites, I know our house looks terrible by comparison. It’s also sad that my kids spend two nights a week there. They must ache with what it used to look and feel like to be in that space. I certainly did upon seeing the pictures.

All of the events surrounding the day of listing were a real trigger for me. I was back in that hopeless place from the moment I saw the rats. I made a social media post about how disappointed the sight of the house made me feel. One of the first responses was about how I should feel positive and happy the the house is listed, that it’s a big step toward my new life.

What? How in the world could I feel anything other than victized and angry? How am I supposed to be relieved that I’m going to lose every penny I invested in the house either to splitting the negligible profits with him 50/50 or through his direct insane decision making? Am I supposed to expect that, somehow, the world is going to become a great and wonderful place where capitalism is dead and I don’t need money to start a new life? Or should I count on an anonymous stranger to take pity on me and give me a down payment for a new house? There aren’t grants for invisible abuse. I’ve looked.

I don’t have any of those big life moments left where your family and friends give gifts to help you start you life. All of those things were in that house and, for my sanity, I walked away from it all. Seeing the last bit of the life I tried to build dying in neglect, a tangible symbol of the culmination of three decades of diligent, people pleasing living, does not spark feelings of hope.

I am not happy about this. I am angry. I am angry about being victimized again. I am angry at the people who don’t seem to understand, who can’t seem to get the selling the house for $10,000 less is a huge blow to my future, who think I should just suck it up yet again, smile and move on.

I hope those people who just don’t get it never have to experience a trauma so intense that it rips a hole through the fabric of your entirety.

One thought on “Actually, I’m Angry ”

I think that those who have not suffered at the hands of a narcissist can be of little help to us. The “move on and start again” comments do not recognise how many explosives the narcissist leaves within us, making progress so very difficult.